


no, it never came around

by rudimentaryflair



Series: AELDWS 2019 [6]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Don't copy to another site, M/M, i'm gonna be real with you - this is probably one of the less good things i've written, well my best attempt at angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-09-01 01:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20250256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudimentaryflair/pseuds/rudimentaryflair
Summary: He thinks of the lights twinkling below them, too perfectly bright, and wants to forget.





	no, it never came around

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Week 6 of the AELDWS 2019 challenge.
> 
> Prompt: Bitter Dregs  
Genre: None  
Word Count: 300-400
> 
> (Not betaed - we die like men.)

Arthur tells himself it’s exposure therapy when he leans over the side of the balcony to taste the disquiet gathering on his tongue. It stings like a lime in December, cold and sharp, not unlike fear but shallower in his throat; it pairs well with the chardonnay he’s drinking.

Eames slides the bottle out of his hand, tugs him away from the balcony and anchors his fingertips on Arthur’s hips, drawing him in close. “Dance with me.”

“There’s no music,” Arthur says. The words come out spiked, like they’re being shot from a rail gun.

Eames knits him in even closer. “Dance with me anyway,” he croons, and spins them in a slow circle.

Something twists inside Arthur’s chest, sour, hurting like a punctured lung, then unravels into a tender aching. He thinks of the lights twinkling below them, too perfectly bright, and wants to forget.

“You’re insufferable,” Arthur says, and kisses him. 

Eames tastes like falling, like cheap cigarettes and cherry candy and everything Arthur hates, but the moonlight haloing his head is sugar-sweet, and Arthur finds that he doesn’t really mind. They trip the lights, waltzing to the bustling traffic and the city buzz, to the midnight air and the maudlin melody lilting around their feet.

“I didn’t take you for a Terry Jacks fan,” Eames murmurs, low in his ear, as the singer's voice carries over the balcony. It grows louder, blanketing the two of them.

_ We had joy, we had fun _

_ We had seasons in the sun _

_ But the wine and the song _

_ Like the seasons have all go -  _

Arthur wakes up. 

He takes his headphones off. He sets them aside. He breathes into his hands, trying to chase the cold away.

Eames isn’t there. He's gone back to wherever the casinos are, to gamble and pick up girls and lose too much money, leaving nothing behind but bitter dregs in Arthur’s mouth.

“Arthur?” Dom looks at him concernedly from where he’s packing a suitcase. “Are you okay?”

_ No _ , he wants to shout.  _ No, I'm not.  _ He hasn't been in a while. 

He doesn't say that.

“Let’s go,” Arthur says, in lieu of an answer. There’s always another place to go, to run away from.

“But - ”

“Dom.” He forcefully yanks the IV out his wrist and twines it back into the PASIV. “Let’s just go, okay?”

“Okay,” Dom agrees. “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> AN: If you didn't like this - me too, bro. Me too. 
> 
> Sorry for any typos, I wrote this on my phone and was too tired to go back and edit.


End file.
